


Clint Barton Never Actually Came Out

by On_Every_Spectrum



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Character Study, Circus, Circus Performer Clint Barton, Clint Barton's Backstory, Coming Out, Coming of Age, F/M, Gay Character, Gay Clint barton, Gay Phil Coulson, Gay Pride, Growing Up, Holding Hands, M/M, Oneshot, Pride, Pride Parades, Queer Character, Queer Clint Barton, Queer Clint Coulson, Queer Themes, Queer author, Trans, Trans Bobbi Morse, Trans Character, Trans Clint Barton, Trans Female Character, Trans Male Character, Transgender, gay author, queer, trans author, trans themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-21
Updated: 2019-05-21
Packaged: 2020-03-08 21:53:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18903379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/On_Every_Spectrum/pseuds/On_Every_Spectrum
Summary: "Clint Barton never actually came out. He's always just been Clint. And, somehow that led him here."





	Clint Barton Never Actually Came Out

**Author's Note:**

> Friendly reminder that Clint's experience of transness isn't universal. Every trans person is an individual. This is just for fun. Let me know what you think.

Clint never actually came out.

When he was six. Maybe seven. Nobody had been interested in keeping track of his age. Trickshot grabbed him roughly by the arm, dragged him in close and held him in place while he lopped off Clint's messy attempt at a ponytail with one of his throwing knives.

"There." He'd said with finality, like he'd been planning this. Even though he hadn't bothered to inform Clint. "Nobody wants to pay to see a fucking girl shoot." And, he'd strode off.

Leaving Clint standing there. The remains of what had been medium length hair at his feet. Confused and startled, but not unhappy.

He'd sweet talked Norma, the bearded lady, into giving him a proper hair cut. Trickshot had done a terrible job. Hadn't even managed to cut all of the strands. But, by the time Norma cleaned it up, he looked ... not necessarily good.

He was still scrawny with a dirty face and sunburned skin and too big worn-out old clothes. But, he looked, more like himself. He decided he liked it.

He'd always worn Barney's old clothes. Where the hell else were they supposed to get anything for him? And, Barney was five years older, his cast-offs were huge on Clint.

So, he rolled the sleeves and cuffs and carefully pinned them up. And, used an old bit of rope as a belt to cinch the jeans tight across his waist.

He looked scruffy and unkempt. A "right mess" as Norma said. Muttering to herself "I don't know what Carson was thinking taking you kids in. This is no place for children. You deserve a proper home." But, she knew they hadn't had a proper home before and they wouldn't now, whether Carson took them or not.

She, she simply muttered to herself and kept Clint's hair cut neat enough and every so often stopped him and said in a soft kind voice "You know you're loved, right? Loved and special." And, even if he squirmed uncomfortably, her words always made him feel warm inside. She might be the only one who loved him, but she did. And, that was worth a lot.

So, Clint had short hair and boys clothes and all the normal people, the folks who came out from whatever town they were in to see the show, assumed he was a boy. Hell, half of the carnies did too. Most of them didn't bother to keep close track of him and Barney. They didn't know or care who he was, they just saw a kid who looked like a boy so they called him one.

He'd been practicing for months and Trickshot told him he was almost ready to perform. They would say he was a little person, so nobody thought they were exploiting a kid. Clint didn't think he looked anything like the one actual little person he knew. And, Mark had certainly scowled when Carson explained the plan. But, he didn't really get a say in any of it. Not if he wanted the avoid being left on the side of the road.

"I'm sorry. It's not right." He'd told Mark, running a hand through his hair, a habit he'd taken up ever since Trickshot first cut it. Mark had looked startled for a moment, then focused in on him. "It's not. But, it's not your fault either, kid." He'd said, reaching up to ruffle Clint's hair himself before walking off.

"I've been thinking." Clint told Trickshot, half running to keep up with the man's long stride. "If I'm gonna be performing as a boy, I need a boy's name, right?" Trickshot's only response was a grunt. "Clint. I like the name Clint." He rushed through the words, trying to push them all out at once. Trickshot let out a full on guffaw. "Clint?" He chuckled. You're funny, kid.

"You're a performer. You're gonna have a stage name. You notice anyone around here performing with a boring name like Clint?" He scowled. "Hawkeye. Carson and I already decided. You're gonna be Hawkeye." It was clear Clint didn't get a say in that, so he let himself fall behind, no longer running to keep up with Trick.

With time, everyone was calling him Hawk. Which he figured was a step above kid. Nobody had bothered to learn his name before. And, he didn't have any particular attachment to it. But, he held on to Clint. He liked it. For reasons he couldn't have explained even if he tried, it just felt right.

When he'd finally been left on the side of the road, bleeding out in a ditch, he'd thought he would die. When instead, he woke up in a hospital room, groggy and in pain, but seemingly alive, he hadn't even thought about it when the nurse asked him what his name was.

"Clint." He'd muttered, his throat dry and parched. "Clint Barton."

He had to give that nurse props too. She hadn't batted an eye. Not even with his newly developed breasts more on display in a flimsy hospital gown that they'd even been before in his life. "Clint." She'd recorded, repeating the name to herself. Then, she'd given him ice chips. Which really made her an angel on Earth as far as he was concerned.

Clint finally got out of the hospital, with a bucketload of medical debt he'd never manage to pay off and no place to go, and he just kept on being Clint. Kept wearing Barney's old clothes, stained by his own blood. And, when he stole some more off some poor family's clothesline, he'd taken the guy's clothes. For all that there was perfectly nice girls stuff hanging right alongside it.

He was Clint. He was a guy. He kept dressing in baggy stuff. And, he mastered how to slouch just right to hide his breasts. He kept his hair cut short, more of less shaggy depending on how often he could afford a ten dollar haircut; usually he couldn't. And, he worked odd jobs.

He'd considered trying to join the military. He'd probably do all right there. But, people kept talking about Don't Ask, Don't Tell and he couldn't imagine they'd just let him be Clint. And, he couldn't imagine being anything else. It made his stomach churn and his jaw clench the same way thinking too hard about his chest or getting called she by some random stranger who thought his voice was too high did.

So, he ended up joining the mafia instead. 'Cause he could shoot straight and they didn't have mandatory medical evaluations. To be fair, he never properly joined. He lived on the outskirts, not interested in all of the politics and whatnot. Content to simply shoot when and where he was told and get a cut of the profits.

Sometimes he missed. He didn't care much for greedy business men or cops or other mafia bigshots. But, some of the targets seemed like good people. Folks who just were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Folks whose blood he didn't want on his hands. So, he missed. And, made certain he got bloodied up enough that nobody believed he was faking it.

He was good. But, nobody was perfect. Sometimes folks miss.

"You don't miss." The man in the suit looked more intimidating than he ought. He dressed like a paper pusher, but Clint knew better than to let appearances fool him.

"Everyone misses." Clint scoffed, wondering why he hadn't been arrested yet. Times due. And, if he was lucky he'd be sentenced to a nice long term with three squares a day and a place to sleep that didn't require killing anyone. He could do worse. And, he was so tired.

"You don't miss." The man repeated. It was clear that the words formed a statement, not a question. Clint knew he wasn't going to get anywhere by arguing.

"What do you want with me?" He scowled, meeting the man's eyes. Trying to piss him off. Trying to get any reaction.

"Why didn't you kill Sara Tchelsa?" He asked, not even blinking. Seemingly not affected by Clint at all. Tchelsa. He remembered her. That was about six months ago. She seemed was nice. Donated money to the rainforest or something like that. Wasn't the kind of person he wanted to kill.

"I missed." He shrugged, confused why this man in the nice suit cared. Tchelsa wasn't even that important. Just some poor woman who pissed his boss off by turning him down. She didn't deserve to die, but nobody would have cared that much if she did.

"You don't miss." The man repeated. And, that was pissing Clint off.

"Seriously, what the hell do you want?" He demanded, slamming his hands down on the table. Not even caring how much he was acting like Barney right then. Not even thinking about it.

"To hire you." The man said simply, as if calm men in fancy suits offered angry Mafia thugs jobs all the time.

Clint ran. He didn't know what else to do.

Every time the man caught up with him, they had some variation of the same conversation.

In an alley. Over coffee. On sticky booths in a crappy diner in the rural Midwest.

It was always the same.

"I want to hire you."

Clint always ran.

When the man finally shot him in the leg, he supposed he had it coming. He didn't even really try to dodge. At least he'd aimed for the leg and not anything more important.

"It's only a flesh wound. You'll make a complete recovery." The doctor said.

He was in a hospital again, and the man in the nice suit was sitting by his bedside.

If he wasn't in so much pain, he'd think he was hallucinating.

"You shot me." He remarked, sounding affronted. He didn't have anything better to say.

"Chasing you was getting boring." The man remarked, same mild manner as always. But, Clint felt almost as if he was being laughed at. Though, the man's face revealed nothing.

"I want to hire you." The man repeated, for what must have been the sixth or seventh time by now.

"Why?" Clint asked. He couldn't run. Not this time.

"You're better than what you've been." He said, as if that answered anything. And, somehow, it did.

SHIELD had mandatory medical evaluations. Apparently it also had a comprehensive anti-discrimination policy that explicitly included transgender individuals.

Clint had never heard the term transgender.

There was also had a support group for transgender personnel. It met in a boring conference room at SHIELD headquarters. He went to a meeting, mostly to figure out what this whole transgender thing was.

There were cookies and lemonade, both still in the brightly colored packages from the store. They were sweeter and better tasting than anything you could get from the mess. That alone was worth coming in Clint's opinion.

He met Bobbi Morse, a butch trans woman with short chopped hair and an endless collection of flannel button-downs. She would correct you the first time you misgendered her, scowl the second, and punch the third. She threw a hard punch. People didn't misgender her more than twice.

He learned terms like "misgender" and "dysphoria." He started identifying as trans. Someone showed him how to bind safely. And, reminded him not when working out and on strenuous missions. They told him SHIELD insurance covered top surgery and handed him pamphlets to read up on what it was.

He changed his name. As far as he was concerned, he'd been Clint since he was six, maybe seven, years old. But, now he had an ID that said that too.

He liked SHIELD. He got a clean place to live, clothes that actually fit, decent food, and regular medical care when he needed it.

He stopped missing. SHIELD didn't have him take out people who didn't deserve it. And, they always made certain he knew why he was shooting the people he was. The mafia had never done than.

He made friends. Went out once a week when he wasn't on a mission for drinks with Bobbi and others from group. Got on pretty well with the other snipers. Even got pulled into a DnD campaign DMed by another specialist.

He was the one to ask Bobbi out. They dated on and off. Even got married, mostly so their benefits would go to one another. Neither of them had any family outside of SHIELD. None that they cared to mention at least.

Bobbi was the one to figure out he was gay. "I may be a stud, but I'm still a woman." She said with a smirk. "This is never gonna work." He knew that already, but it was nice not to have to say it himself.

They stayed married. They were still each other's family.

He moved up through the ranks of SHIELD. They kept giving him more and more responsibility. His handlers left notes in his file like "sound tactical mind" and "mentors younger agents." They weren't words he would have used to describe himself, but they made him feel good. The way Norma had once upon a time.

He was allowed to read his own file, because SHIELD had a policy that prioritized "transparency" whenever possible. It was a weird place to work. In a good way. Not a lot like it in the early 2000s.

He'd been there almost ten years when he was assigned to a mission with the man in a nice suit. His suit had gotten nicer, fancier. His hairline had receeded some. But, he had the same expressionless face. Clint hadn't seen him since that time in the hospital, when he first came in.

"It's you." He exclaimed, feeling safe enough in a SHIELD conference room surrounded by fellow agents to let himself react naturally.

The man looked him up and down. Though, Clint got the impression it was perfunctory. The man already knew who he was.

"You shot me." He observed, not upset. Just a statement.

"You deserved it." The man replied, and Clint could have sworn there was the slightest hint of a smile in his eyes.

"I don't know your name." Clint stated, the words weren't a question. He hadn't even realized it until then. He still didn't know the man's name.

"Coulson. Phil Coulson." He held out his hand to shake. Clint took it.

Coulson hadn't shared his rank, even though he was obviously Clint's superior. He respected that about the other man.

"Clint Barton." He returned, shaking.

"I know." Was all Coulson said, then he turned away to finish preparing for the briefing.

Coulson was a good supervisor. Listened to his agents. Respected them. Never left a team member behind if he could help it.

He was a good man. Bit of a coffee snob, but happily ate the most disgusting foods. Had a dry sense of humor, if you could ever catch it. Held agents while they died and never lied and told them it would be all right. Always told people when they did well.

Clint liked Coulson. And, when he developed a crush on him, that was fine. He liked him better as a supervisor and maybe eventual friend. Didn't want to risk messing stuff up. Knew from a string of messy failed relationships that Bobbi was the exception. You couldn't count of staying friends with the people you tried to date. So, it was easier not to try.

Clint and Coulson worked well together. They got assigned to more and more of the same missions until it was the exception to be out without each other.

They became friends. Caught dinner together at the mess. Got in a bit of extra training with one another. Clint learned that Coulson was a huge Captain America fan. Coulson learned Clint had been in the circus, something he'd only told Bobbi before.

When Clint got top surgery, Bobbi took him to the hospital and drove him back home again. But, she and Coulson traded off shifts staying with him while he recovered. Undoing and redoing his bandages. Helping him reach anything placed anywhere above shoulder level.

He made a full recovery. And, he loved his chest. Loved that he never felt his breasts moving all around as he worked out or climbed a building. Loved that he could go topless wherever he wanted and nobody looked at him funny. Loved his scars, marking where he'd been.

He decided against bottom surgery. He'd never wanted it. And, leaned away from T. Maybe someday. But, he never regretted top surgery. And, he was thankful for the family that took care of him while he recovered.

He was promoted. Level seven. He'd been promoted a lot over the years. But, this felt special. He was the same level as Coulson. Same as Bobbi. He was allowed to supervise now. To run his own missions.

That night they went out to celebrate. At the end of the evening, Coulson asked him out. Hedging his words even as he said them. Reassuring Clint that he had nothing to do with his promotion. That he didn't expect anything. That he still wanted to be friends regardless of anything else.

Clint said yes.

Coulson said yes when he asked if he could kiss him too.

Clint never really came out.

Bobbi told him he was gay. And, he'd just accepted it. Started sleeping with men. Tried dating a few.

Clint and Coulson were a couple. People took it in stride.

SHIELD's anti-discrimination policy covered gay people as well. There was no Don't Ask, Don't Tell here.

Coulson led the support group for Gay, Lesbian, and Bisexual SHIELD personell. Clint knew that already. They co-hosted a barbecue with the trans support group every summer and everyone's families came.

Clint started attending those meetings too. Made some more friends.

When he brought in Black Widow, he didn't have to shoot her in the leg. She would have let him shoot her in the heart. And, he wasn't willing to do that.

He became friends with Natasha faster than he would have thought. She was desperate for it. Quick to open herself up, because she dearly needed to be open to someone. Because she had nothing to lose.

When Phil proposed, Clint had to ask Bobbi for a divorce. She was happy to sign the papers. At his wedding, she stood next to him. Natasha on her other side.

Their honeymoon was marvelous.

The Marriage Equality Act finally passed and Clint changed his gender marker. He was a man. He was married to a man. That had been true before, but it was nice to see it on paper.

Clint was brainwashed and New York was attacked. Natasha brought him back to himself and told him Phil was dead. He joined a team called the Avengers. He fought to avenge his husband.

When it turned out that Phil didn't really die, he hardly had a chance to celebrate, because Bobbi did. He found out less than two hours after realizing Phil was alive.

He saw a lot of therapists. Cried a lot. Phil held him. Natasha sat with him.

He recovered. It's never entirely the same.

Every year on Bobbi's birthday he bakes her a cake with her name, the one she chose herself, carefully iced across the top and they celebrate.

He thinks she would have wanted that.

He's still on the Avengers. He's a superhero. And, Hawkeye's no longer just a code name. Sometimes he wished he'd chosen his own call sign. But, usually he's all right with the one Trickshot and Carson gave him.

He's been given a lot of things that should have limited him. They never stopped him from being him.

Clint never actually transitioned. He never actually came out.

Clint has always just been himself. And, for better or worse, the world has made space for him.

He never expected to be a superhero. Never expected to be recognized on the streets. But, he is. And, his community is under attack. And, it feels like it's time to come out.

Phil fastens the flag securely. The pastel colors contrasting with Clint's bright purple uniform.

Phil's more casually dressed, a nice pair of shorts and a plain t-shirt. A bright rainbow flag rests across his own shoulders.

They link hands and join the parade. Not at the front. Not at the back. Just somewhere in the middle. Holding hands. Clint in uniform. And, both of them in love.

When a reporter finally gets a mic in front of him, he looks right at the camera and says "I'm Clint Barton. I'm a transgender man. I am Hawkeye. And, this is my husband, Phil."

So much for his future as a spy, but that was always work best left to Natasha anyways.


End file.
